


smother

by Anonymous



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Car Sex, Father/Son Incest, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Praise Kink, not a Good Fic, slight Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-05 19:59:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: He has him in the back seat of his truck, parked in the empty makeshift alley of Mike’s Grocery, pressed hard against the beat up leather.





	smother

**Author's Note:**

> hi this is fucked up and awful so do read the tags, know what you're getting into and don't read this if it'll trigger you or anything be safe i did warn you

 

_“Dad,”_

He has him in the back seat of his truck, parked in the empty makeshift alley of Mike’s Grocery, pressed hard against the beat up leather. His jacket is hanging off his shoulders, one hand fisted in Fp’s jacket and one hand digging into his opposite shoulder, knuckles probably turning white and shaking, pants pushed hastily down and bunched around his thighs.

Fp has a knee slotted between his legs, propped awkwardly, halfway off the seat, one hand down the front of Jughead’s boxers. He’d let his dad shove his pants down but had pressed his thighs together self-consciously when he’d tried to do the same to those, so Fp had rubbed at his stomach lightly to calm him down and slipped his hand in like that.

Fp isn’t sure how they ended up like this, Jughead tense and trembling beneath him, eyes squeezed shut tight, breathing the same hot air. He _knows_ , he knows how bad thing is, dirty bad wrong and everything in between, but even though he’s been sober for weeks now his head still feels full of _something_ , something that makes him ache when he sees his boy laughing and loving and not at home, knows he drove Jughead out and is a few steps away from getting him back but still not quite there yet. And he just— _misses_ him, misses him like you would miss breathing, misses the way he used to hug him and smile all adoring and happy.

“D-Dad— _oh_ ,” he moans, head thrown back, pretty mouth hanging open.

He wants to tell him not to say that, because it makes him all the more aware of how _wrong wrong wrong_ this all is and how much he should stop and apologize, get on his knees in repentance, but at the same time it—fuck, it _spurs him on_ if you can fucking believe it, has him running his thumb over the head of Jug’s dick in a way that has him biting back these small, high noises, has Fp’s dick twitching in his pants.

“That good?” He breathes against his son’s neck, a light sheen of sweat against his lips.

Jughead seems like he doesn’t know whether or not to nod, movements jerky; Fp twists his hand, sharp and experienced, and Jughead nods quickly.

“Yeah?” Fp murmurs, encouraging.

“Y-Yeah— _ah_!”

“ _You’re_ good,” he says on instinct, things he should’ve said so so long ago instead of here, instead of now, “You’re so good, Juggie, so smart, so— _fuck,_ you’re so good, I don’t deserve you.”

Jughead whines low in his throat, throws an arm around his dad’s shoulders, pulling him closer, “Dad,” he gasps again, “D-Dad, dad, I don’t—I can’t—”

“Shh,” he shushes gently, “You’re okay, I’ve got you,”

Jughead’s hips jerk up into Fp’s hand, thighs trembling. He presses his head into the crook of Fp’s shoulder, stifling his noises as best he can—Fp has half a mind to tell him not to, to let himself drink up his son’s little gasps, his choked off moans, soft whines like no one’s ever touched him before in his life. The thought sends a thrill through him that would make him sick at any other time—he’s the only one who’s ever seen him like this, all flushed and panting. He jerks his hand faster.

_“Dad,”_ he chokes, “O-oh, fuck, I’m—”

“I’ve got you,” he says lowly, moves a hand to grasp the back of his boy’s neck, steady and firm, “I’ve got you, Juggie,”

“Dad, please–”

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” and suddenly, inspiration strikes, a longing so strong it cuts him deep, “Will you come home, Jug? Do you wanna come home?”

His hips jerk up again, grasping at his dad’s hair, his collar, “I–”

“I’ll take care of you,” he promises, “I love you so much, Jug, will you come home?”

Jughead nods, jerky and probably subconscious, “Yeah,” he gasps, “Y-Yeah, I will, I will, please,”

Fp pulls his boy closer, closer, moving his hand rough and and quick, and suddenly Jughead is coming, strong and sudden.

“Dad,” he sobs into his jacket, “Dad, _fuck, dad dad dad,”_

“Good boy,” he breathes, carding a hand through Jughead’s hair, fingers under his beanie, breath hot against his neck, “You did so go.”

Jughead shivers at that and slumps against him, exhausted. Gently, Fp slips his hand out of his boxers, carefully zips his pants back up.

“You did good,” he says again, and presses a soft kiss to his boy’s temple. 

 


End file.
